


your eyes were beckoning like constellations

by Shadowcrawler, unwindmyself



Series: cause in our greatest conquest we are what fate depends [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Gags, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/pseuds/Shadowcrawler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: Wanda is feeling low, Sif wants to help.





	your eyes were beckoning like constellations

**Author's Note:**

> SO. Obviously there are spoilers for _Infinity War_ all up in this. However, considering that according to the film (and the Russos) neither of these characters technically survived Thanos' great bullshit, this is an AU in that regard only. Or possibly they did both go poof and they don't know it and conveniently the weird vague afterlife that's only for people who went poof (hence why Vision isn't also there, since he's, y'know, _real_ dead) pretty much just looks like Wakanda because it's the best place and why wouldn't it. It could go either way, believe what you want.
> 
> Also it's a different afterlife for people who went poof because the people who went poof are coming back. Yeah.

The room - _bedchamber_ seems a more appropriate word - that’s been loaned to Wanda for the ambiguous duration of her stay is grander than any she’s ever set foot in. It makes the rooms, her room at the Avengers facility look like a model home, all generic decor and impersonal personal touches (mass-produced paintings, blandly striped fabric, that cross that Stark had put on the wall without asking or even doing enough research to find out that she wasn’t, isn’t, even Christian) and gray and white and high polish. It’s funny to think about; she’d felt uncomfortable in all of that newness and obvious, trying-to-be-subtle wealth. She’d felt like a pretender.

The palace is more splendid, and should therefore be more daunting, but it's somehow realer. Wanda doesn’t feel like she belongs here either, not exactly, but she feels like a welcome guest and not like a doll dropped in the wrong playset. It’s something.

She fled to her room - bedchamber - as soon as she was allowed, with the mess of the battle still scattered across the fields and everyone else in a daze. That’s too simple a way to describe how she feels right now: she feels physically ill, but her symptoms belong to ten different ailments; she’s traumatized, but she’s the cause of her own trauma. The others would mean well, she knows, but there’s no way they have the words to soothe her right now.

She’s not sure there are any, in truth.

Instead she rips her bloodstained coat off and throws it to the floor, unzips her corset, peels off her boots and pants. She can’t stand to spend another minute dressed as a hero when she’s anything but. This accomplished, she flings herself on the too-large bed, the bed that might have been intended for two, the black-sheeted bed that at least won’t show any bloodstains she rubs into it with her careless movement or lack thereof.

She doesn’t move.

She’s asked more than once, through the door, if she’d like to come have something to eat or talk to anyone. Natasha is particularly attentive, but also the quickest to concede when Wanda mumble-shouts “no”; Steve tries to open the door once and she nearly zaps him with a hex bolt as she struggles to keep the door closed (he understands, though).

Then there’s another tap on the door. “Hello? Wanda?” calls a voice. “It’s Sif. Do you remember me?”

To her credit, Wanda does manage to roll from her front onto her back, surprised into action. “Of course,” she says, her voice hoarse.

“May I come in?” Sif asks.

Wanda nods, belatedly realizing Sif won’t see her, and with another flash of light she turns the doorknob, granting Sif permission to enter.

Sif comes in, looking hopefully at Wanda. “Hello,” she says again. “I wanted...to come see you.”

“Why?” Wanda asks before she can tell herself not to.

“Because I was concerned for you,” Sif says. “And because I wanted to know if you were alright.”

“I’m here,” Wanda murmurs. Alright is a tall order, but present is something she can offer.

Sif nods. “Can I sit?” She nods at the bed.

Wanda shrugs and scoots over, making a bit more space. “I’m sorry I’m in no condition to entertain,” she says dryly.

“You don’t have to be,” Sif says, voice gentle as she sits on the bed near Wanda, but not quite touching her. “I thought perhaps I might be able to...help.”

“How?” Wanda asks, taking care not to sound mean.

Sif makes an embarrassed sort of face. “Well...since you and I, ah, had a...connection...I thought perhaps my presence might be comforting.”

With great effort, Wanda manages to push herself up on her elbows, and it’s just then that she realizes she’s all but naked. It’s nothing Sif hasn’t seen before, she figures, so she doesn’t bother to do much more than blush about it. “It’s appreciated,” she says solemnly. “Though surprising.”

“It’s not as if I have much else to occupy my time,” Sif says with a shrug. “With the remnants of Asgard scattered amongst the galaxy, I do not know where I will go from here.”

Wanda’s gaze drops to somewhere around her own navel. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

“Why are you apologizing, Wanda?” Sif asks, puzzled. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’ve lost so much,” Wanda says, “and I dredged it up thoughtlessly.”

“It’s nothing I wouldn’t be thinking of anyway,” says Sif, “and I thought perhaps...if you were hurting as well, we could comfort each other. I suppose I was being less noble than I wanted to admit.” She laughs, a bit nervously.

“It’s plenty noble,” Wanda replies, one corner of her mouth twisting up, “though given my hurt is largely my own fault…”

Sif shakes her head. “I don’t believe that. This is Thanos’ fault. He is the one who caused all of this.”

“I killed someone good,” Wanda whispers. “Me, alone. Although he told me to, and told me it was right, I killed him. I felt him die. And for what? Just to have Thanos turn back time and kill him all over again, but for his own horrible purposes.”

Sif moves a bit closer to Wanda. “Would you like me to…?” She reaches out, then pauses.

“To?” Wanda echoes, tilting her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Touching?” Sif asks. “Would that help? If I touched you, or held you, perhaps?”

Wanda is quiet for a long moment, worrying her lip and getting lost in thought, and when she speaks her voice seems not altogether as if it’s coming from her body. “Touching,” she echoes. “Firmly. Strictly. As I deserve.”

Sif’s a bit startled by this. “That wasn’t what I meant,” she says slowly. “Do you mean a punishment?”

Wanda nods. “As I deserve,” she repeats, clearly stuck on the words.

“I don’t think you do,” Sif says, shaking her head. “But if you think this will help you...”

Finally Wanda looks up, imploring. “Bind me,” she says. “Don’t… don’t let me forget the pain.” That she’s caused, that she’s feeling, that’s everywhere around her.

“Only if you let me take care of you as well,” Sif insists. “You aren’t a monster, Wanda.”

“I ruin things,” Wanda whispers.

“You don’t. You were forced to make a difficult choice. Rogers himself could not have done better.”

“I do,” Wanda says. “Everything I touch goes wrong. I don’t deserve…” She shakes her head. “I’m not suited for gentleness.”

Sif sighs, also shaking her head, and looks about the room for a moment. “What should I use?” she asks. “To bind you.”

Wanda’s gaze falls again, and she waves toward a trunk along the wall. “There are things in there,” she says, and then hopefully she adds, “Leather?” Of the bondage equipment she’s comfortable with, that always feels the strongest.

“Alright.” Sif stands up and goes over to the trunk, digging through it for awhile before retrieving a set of black leather cuffs. “These?”

“Belts?” Wanda suggests, biting her lip.

“Ah.” Sif rummages a bit more, then pulls out a set of belt-like straps. “Better?”

Wanda nods. “More?” she asks in a whisper, and though it comes out in a fragment she hopes Sif will understand. “To lose myself.”

“These, then.” Sif offers a black mask-style blindfold and a gag that looks like it covers the entire lower half of the face as well as part of the neck.

“Yes,” Wanda says. She sounds a little embarrassed by her desires, honestly, but she trusts Sif to know what to do with her.

Sif comes back over to Wanda, then seems to think about how to best arrange her for a minute before saying, “I’ll do your legs first.” She gently eases Wanda’s panties off, then starts to wrap one of the belts around her legs to tie them together.

“Thank you,” Wanda murmurs, averting her gaze once more.

Once Sif’s finished with that, she pauses for a moment before saying, “I’d like you on your knees, leaning over the end of the bed. I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” Wanda repeats, starting to rearrange herself and push herself into place carefully.

Sif helps guide her into the kneeling position, then places a pillow between Wanda’s upper half and the bedframe so she can lean on it. Next, she loops another belt through her wrists and around the end of the bed. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” Wanda says. It isn’t quite, not in the truest sense; given the angle of her torso, she’s not quite able to sit back on her heels, and that’s likely going to strain in time. The straps are tight around her limbs, difficult to forget. But this is what she wanted, and she feels secure and safe and cared for in a way she can’t quite articulate, so she just repeats, “Yes.”

“Good.” Sif runs a hand down her back. “And now…” She reaches around to place the gag over Wanda’s mouth and neck, then fastens it. “Nod if this is still good.”

It’s slightly difficult - the gag keeps her head more or less in one position - but Wanda does, managing a faint hum of assent. She’s fully aware of how dramatic her toys of choice can be, but it suits her, and besides that when she does want to disappear into herself this is one of the most effective ways to do it.

As Sif ties on the blindfold, she says, “If you want or need to stop, you can tell me with your mind. I’ll stop immediately.”

Wanda hums again, and sort of subconsciously she makes a fist with one hand, thumb on the outside, and raises and lowers it at the wrist. Before he took the plea deal and went back to the farm, Clint taught Wanda enough ASL to get through her nonverbal days; she’s not sure if Sif will understand it, but she does it anyway.

Sif doesn’t know ASL, but she’s able to recognize the gesture as an affirmative one. “Good,” she says, running her fingers through Wanda’s hair. “Let’s start with ten strikes, then, alright?”

Wanda signs “yes” again, shivering slightly from obvious desire. She could take more, _should_ take more - but she trusts Sif and trusts the word “start.”

So Sif arranges herself so she’s kneeling behind Wanda and brings her palm down against Wanda’s ass. “One,” she says, then strikes her again. “Two.”

To her credit, Wanda barely flinches and even moves back against Sif’s hand to seek more contact; she actually doesn’t indulge in painplay often at all (she doesn’t trust easily enough, and Vision who she did learn and relearn to trust abjectly refused to go down that path) but right now, the sharp, hot sensation is exactly what she needs. In her mind she sees the stricken skin glowing red like her powers, all of the color and feeling focused in one place.

“Three,” Sif says, smacking her again. She’s not using her full strength because, well, she doesn’t want to _actually_ hurt Wanda, but she’s using just enough to make sure Wanda will feel it. That seems to be what she wants. She counts off four and five before pausing briefly to see how Wanda’s faring.

Reasonably well, it seems; she’s pulling on the bindings around her wrists a little more, leaning back a little more heavily, but she doesn’t seem to be in any particular pain. It’s the contrast she craves: the position and bondage and even the act of punishment takes her a little deeper under with each moment, but each strike against her ass or little dig of the leather into her skin brings her just far enough back that she remembers what she wants to remember, feels what she wants to feel.

Sif runs her hand across Wanda’s back briefly, gently, before delivering the final five strikes systematically. “More?” she asks, glancing up. She’s not sure Wanda _should_ have more, at least of this, but she should at least offer since it seems like it’s something Wanda thinks she needs.

The word takes a few seconds to reach Wanda, in all honesty. She wasn’t expecting the rest of it quite so - so _fast_ \- but fast it was, fast enough that she’s far, far under faster than she knows what to do with. She doesn’t notice it, but she’s shaking, breathing just a little bit heavier, and it takes another few seconds for her to be able to lift her shoulders just enough to shrug. She doesn’t know, anymore, what she deserves.

Sif can tell that Wanda’s not really in a place to be able to answer that at the moment, so she says, “I’m going to undo your wrists, flip you over, and then take care of you. You need that too,” she adds, in case Wanda’s present enough to try to argue that she doesn’t.

Under her blindfold, Wanda’s eyebrow quirks up; behind the gag, a soft curious noise comes from the back of her throat. The world keeps getting smaller on her, is the thing, and she can’t actually fully imagine what taking care of her would be.

“Here,” Sif clarifies, reaching to gently touch Wanda’s center. “If you like.”

Wanda whines faintly, her hips rocking against Sif’s hand almost of their own accord. Each time Sif touches her, or her bindings make themselves known, it turns on another of those lights, but while her ass and wrists and ankles and knees are glowing that faint but persistent red, this is almost a golden feeling, a gentle hum. Between her legs is gold, there’s a fading gold trail across her back where Sif’s fingers were.

That’s all she knows, but right now, she’d like to be gold.

“Alright,” Sif says. She reaches to undo the belt securing Wanda’s wrists to the end of the bed, then, once that’s completed, she helps Wanda so she’s on her back, knees still bent. “Nod if you’re comfortable.”

Wanda manages, just barely.

“Good,” Sif murmurs. She reaches to gently prop Wanda’s legs up so that she can run her fingernails along Wanda’s thighs.

Fingernails. That’s somewhere between red and gold, red that fades into gold perhaps, and it makes Wanda moan, then exhale sharply through her nose. She could hardly keep her legs up like they are by herself, so she’s glad of Sif’s support. Is there a way to show that? She doesn’t know, beyond the small contented noises.

“Good,” Sif echoes, slowly stroking her way up. “Good girl, I’d like to hear how much you’re enjoying this.”

Of course that’s easier said than done, at the moment; the gag is built sturdily, like a corset, and it keeps Wanda’s jaws held together, her lips pressed closed. She does manage another moan, though, and her hips twitch against Sif’s hand.

Sif takes her time, running her fingers over Wanda’s center almost lazily and not quite touching her clit just yet. “You deserve this, too,” she says. “You deserve to feel good, Wanda. You are not to blame for what’s happened.”

That’s not what Wanda expects to hear. It’s far from the script that scenes like this usually follow, and it’s more than Sif was saying while she spanked her, and - and combined with the golden glow Sif is starting up it’s so _much_.

Slipping one finger inside Wanda and starting to thrust slowly, Sif adds, “I understand why you want to be punished, but you can’t take all the blame on yourself. Your friends wouldn’t want that. I don’t want that.”

Another noise slips from Wanda, this one vaguer and more questioning. She can’t put a color to Sif’s voice anymore - it flickers red, it flickers gold, it flickers a hot no-color kind of light.

“I care about you,” Sif says, stroking around Wanda’s clit. “I think you deserve to feel good and be taken care of, even if you’ve made mistakes. And I intend to take very good care of you, if you’ll let me.”

Wanda whimpers. Without really noticing it, without it really being noticeable, her jaw tightens like she’s trying to keep herself from reacting. She breathes as deep as she can, one-two-three one-two-three, and despite those efforts a tear slips out from under her blindfold.

Sif notices this, and adds, “You don’t have to hold back with me if you don’t want to.” She adds another finger inside Wanda and crooks them, feeling for Wanda’s g-spot.

That, too, isn’t as easy as it should be, but Wanda hums in agreement and stops trying to keep the tears from falling. That also makes a nice contrast, red falling from her eyes and gold swirling below her hips.

“Good girl,” murmurs Sif, moving her fingers a bit faster. “You feel so good.”

Wanda squirms a bit, not sure what to make of that. Normally she’d fawn at being called a good girl, normally she’d do everything she could to hear it again, but when all she’s wanted is sharpness and correction it’s almost confusing to hear.

Sif slows her movements, not quite sure how to take that. “Will you be alright if I take off the blindfold?” she asks after a moment. “I think being able to see your face would help me know what you want.”

Wanda hesitates. The darkness is comforting, safe; it’s one less thing to worry about. But she can always (will probably) shut her eyes if she needs to, and she’d rather that than have to find words just yet, so she nods.

Sif reaches to undo the blindfold and set it aside. “Do you want me to keep touching you there?” she asks.

Another nod, and Wanda tries to relax into Sif’s hands as best she can. Touching is easy. Touching is good and gold.

“Alright,” Sif says, starting to move her fingers inside Wanda again. “Do you want me to talk to you?”

This noise is more ambivalent. Wanda likes Sif’s voice, but she’s not sure of how her body and brain will react to Sif’s words. She can’t predict it in this state.

“I won’t talk much, then,” Sif says. She brushes her fingers against Wanda’s g-spot again.

The touch is enough to make Wanda hum with contentment, but she finds that the sight of Sif paying her this attention makes everything that much stronger. She’s so strong, so powerful, so everything, and she _could_ hurt Wanda but she doesn’t want to, she wants to care for her like some delicate precious something worth protecting, and it’s - it’s suddenly very much to take in, and she’s crying more, but she feels a different kind of overwhelmed than before.

Sif’s mostly quiet, like she promised, focused on touching Wanda, but when she notices Wanda’s crying she says, “You can shut your eyes if that will help.”

Wanda shakes her head slightly, mumbles a _no_ sort of sound. It’s not the bad kind of crying, not that she would have the words to explain that even if she _could_ speak. Sif is just gold all over, and that’s a lot to take in.

Sif nods and keeps touching her. She can tell that Wanda’s getting close to...well, _something_. Some kind of release, even if it isn’t necessarily an orgasm.

To be fair, Wanda’s not even sure what she’s close to, anymore. She just knows there’s something inside of her that needs to get out, and Sif will help let it out, but the belts and the gag feel like protection, like it can’t hurt anyone if it _does_ get out, like she’s wrapped up and ready to be undone. She’s crying, she’s moaning, she’s almost laughing, she’s doing all of these things, and she’s close, so close.

“Come on,” Sif coaxes quietly, “let go, Wanda. For me.”

And all at once, Wanda does, squeezing her eyes shut (even though most of her wants to watch Sif watch her, the first impulse wins out) and wailing against the leather of the gag. Her legs twitch so violently that the belts dig into her skin and leave red marks that might be hard to disguise, her chest heaves in a way that _can’t_ be sensual, and for a moment, everything slips away.

Then Wanda’s quiet for a long moment - long enough that Sif tilts her head and asks, “Wanda?” When there’s no answer, her eyes widen and she worries for a moment before she sees that Wanda’s still breathing. Sif’s never had an orgasm so intense that she loses consciousness, but she supposes that’s what must have happened. She pauses for a moment, then cleans off her fingers with the box of tissues on the bedside table and starts to undo the straps from around Wanda’s legs, straightening them out gently. She wants to make sure Wanda is as comfortable as possible.

When Wanda blinks back awake, it feels like no time has passed at all, but she figures it must have if Sif has managed to unbind her like she has. It occurs to her, dimly, that she ought to announce her relative presence back in her own body, but she feels too boneless to move and she’s still significantly quieted by the gag. All she manages is a mewling little question mark of a sound.

Of course, Sif hears that and, once she’s done untying all of Wanda’s limbs, reaches up to cup her cheek in her hand. “Hello there,” she murmurs, smiling. “Would you like me to take this off?” She runs her finger along the edge of the gag.

Wanda furrows her brow, shrugs thoughtfully. Words don’t usually come back to her that quickly, but she imagines Sif’s mouth on hers, spreading gold all through her, and oh, that’s worth it. She whimpers in the affirmative.

Sif nods and undoes the gag, setting it aside. She leans down to kiss Wanda’s mouth. “Feeling good?” she asks.

Wanda sighs contentedly and falls back against the bed, one ankle lazily brushing Sif’s to suggest that she do the same. She manages a quiet “I, I…” but just as she’d expected nothing follows that and she settles for an apologetic expression.

“It’s alright,” Sif says, laying down next to Wanda. She reaches up to stroke her hair. “I’m here.”

Wanda nods and swallows, more heavily than she’d like. There are still tears falling from her eyes, though sort of randomly, slowly, unpredictably, and she still doesn’t know what to make of this, quite, or how to express it. Normally it doesn’t matter if people can’t sort out what she’s thinking, normally she doesn’t care if she has to wait for the words to come back or just let it pass, but she wants Sif to be able to at least try to understand.

Sif’s quiet for a little while, and then she says, “I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I can see you’re thinking something...would you want to, ah, to show me, maybe? If it would be easier than talking?”

Wanda’s eyebrows go up. Most people don’t exactly offer to let her into their minds, and she understands why; save for a couple instances with Vision, nobody has asked her to share with them like that since Pietro was alive. She almost can’t believe the request.

But Sif is staring at her, looking so trusting and genuine that it’s clear she means what she’s saying, and so very carefully, having to make an extra effort to move her limbs (they feel like they’re underwater), she turns on her side and brings a hand up to Sif’s temple. She hesitates for a moment, not knowing how best to show images of her own confusion, but finally she settles on just projecting the picture she’s been revisiting this whole time: her body glowing faintly red, darker where she felt impact, and Sif’s glowing gold, leaving matching gold paths on Wanda’s skin. Maybe that will be enough?

Sif’s mouth falls open as she absorbs the images Wanda’s sending her. It’s beautiful, but it’s not the kind of thing that would be easy to explain, and she’s honored that Wanda feels safe enough to use her powers in this way, with her. “Thank you,” she says finally. “I’m glad I could...make you feel that.”

Shyly, Wanda nods and lets her hand fall. It’s intimate, not just what they’ve done but what she’s felt, and the feelings part of it is somehow more embarrassing for her to express. She leans closer to drop her head against Sif’s chest, hoping it will be allowed.

Sif wraps her arm around Wanda’s shoulders, holding her close. “Good girl,” she says. “We can sleep now, if you’d like.”

That’s not something Wanda has done much of lately, for obvious reasons, but even though she feels now that she _could,_ she doesn’t want to, not yet. Not while things are still uneven, when all she’s done is take and not give. She’s not sure how to broach this subject, so she very tentatively lets one hand slip down to Sif’s hips and linger, questioningly.

Blinking, Sif pauses a moment before saying, “You don’t have to reciprocate tonight, Wanda. I wanted to be sure _you_ felt better.”

Wanda scrunches up her nose. She does, but she’ll feel even better once she’s been able to make Sif feel so, too. She can’t be selfish, she hates being selfish, and so she hums in the back of her throat and halfway nods. Sif’s achieved her goal, can’t she achieve one of her own?

“If you want to,” Sif says, “I won’t say no. Should I move at all?”

Gently, Wanda nudges Sif so she’s flat on her back, then slides down so she’s positioned between Sif’s thighs. She’s still only done this a handful of times, but she trusts herself right now, trusts that Sif will guide her as she needs, so she doesn’t hesitate to take a breath and then start kissing the skin of Sif’s inner thighs.

Sif sighs and shifts so her legs are further apart, giving Wanda better access. “That’s good,” she says, reaching down to put a hand in Wanda’s hair.

Wanda can’t help but whimper when Sif touches her hair - she’s not surprised, she’s sure Sif remembers that she likes that, but it’s a wonderful feeling - and she rubs her face against Sif’s skin affectionately, like a cat might. If it’s odd, she doesn’t seem to notice.

That makes Sif smile and stroke Wanda’s hair. “You’re very sweet,” she says. “I’d like more kissing.” It’s the gentlest of orders, but she thinks it might help Wanda to have specific instructions.

It does, in fact - of course Sif remembers she likes that, too - and Wanda sets about obeying, pressing featherlight kisses all over Sif’s skin, gradually getting closer to her center.

Nodding, Sif shuts her eyes for a second. “That’s nice,” she hums. “You can go a bit faster if you like.”

Wanda nods, speeding up and then, curiously almost, starting to lap at Sif’s center. She’s fairly sure that will go over, but she wants to be sure.

Sif moans and digs her fingers into Wanda’s hair, careful not to grip too tightly but wanting Wanda to know she’s enjoying herself.

And for a while, that’s it, that’s the whole world. It’s Sif’s hands and fingers and Wanda’s hair and scalp, it’s Sif’s skin and taste and Wanda’s lips and teeth and tongue, it’s Sif’s pleasure and Wanda’s concentration. It’s the noises that both of them make, it’s the gold feeling spreading from Sif into Wanda and back into Sif, it’s small and simple and quiet and good.

Finally Sif lets out a long moan and moves against Wanda as she comes, sort of accidentally pulling Wanda’s hair as she does. When she calms, she feels almost boneless. “I’m sorry,” she says, letting go of Wanda’s hair after giving her a few gentler apologetic pets. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Wanda shakes her head, a faint, murmured “no” falling from her lips. It was pleasant - more of that bright red, but just enough.

“Now come up here and let me clean you up,” Sif says, grabbing for more tissues.

Wanda does. It’s funny, she still feels sort of liquid herself, but one way or another she moves back up so she’s face-to-face with Sif. She can’t help but brush some of Sif’s hair back from her face, just careful, tender almost.

Sif smiles and kisses her on the mouth. “Thank you,” she murmurs, wiping Wanda’s face clean with a tissue.

“Mm,” Wanda hums, but it obviously means “you’re welcome,” it’s written in her eyes. She kisses Sif’s cheek gently and then tucks herself back against Sif’s chest, liking how warm and safe that feels.

“I can stay here with you,” Sif says, “as long as you’d like.”

“Please?” Wanda manages to say, trying not to sound as desperate as she feels.

Wrapping her arms around Wanda, Sif runs one hand down her back and nods. “I’m here.”


End file.
